Stadium
by croquant
Summary: My eyes can't see very far, so perhaps this account isn't the most accurate of accounts.


My eyes can't see very far, so perhaps this account isn't the most accurate of accounts.

All I have are my green spikes and enhanced water system.

I live in the desert, where the landscapes continues on for at least another hundred miles. There's nothing. Just the spinning dust following the vagaries of the wind.

But as I said, I can't see a hundred miles out.

For I am just a cactus.

And not even a Cactaur (trust me, I would have started off immediately with a description of my moveset if I were).

I am a cactus not even blessed with the awakened powers or virtuous character of a Pokemon.

I am a plant.

But this plant has something to say.

Because I'm in an empty desert, a century back some aspiring Pokemon gym leaders saw these acres and decided to make use of them.

To my right are the hundred miles of void.

But to my left is an awe inspiring stadium. The stadium looks like a Roman colosseum, but with high tech enhancements webbing the structure all over.

Instead of pillars of engraved stone, these pillars are chrome.

Instead of an entryway of sandstone, the entryway shows off motion sensor silver plated doors.

And all over are glittering rubies.

Some say the rubies are the leftover shards for when gym badges are created, refashioned into perfect spheres…

Others say the rubies are a treasure excavated from the desert that no one knew who to give to, or who they belonged to.

Either way, the glistening red jewels, like tiny mouths, call to trainers all over the world.

I see them every day and I see them now.

They're 11…12… but can be as old as 70.

They come with bugs, who thrive in these hot temperatures. They come with fish, who must be kept in their Pokeballs lest dehydration strikes them before battle. Some come with birds and some come with dragons.

Over this century, I have seen…

Possibly tens of thousands.

A curious fact about my location is that I can only watch the entrance.

Thus, I am only privy to the expressions of those entering the Stadium, and not the losers exiting.

But it's quite wondrous what I do see.

Every trainer has determination etched onto their faces. Every trainer tromps their way up. And it's an angry kind of determination, too. The kind that says…

"Get the fuck outta my way, or I'll blast you!"

I see passion, fury, and a brightness…

Sometimes I wonder what each trainer means, though, in the end.

As I am not the exit Cactus, I don't know.

Because I do know that most of these trainers _fail_.

The Stadium is notorious for its 1% victory rate.

So, I have to ask…

What is the point?

What is the point of repeating this competition every day? What is the point of a competitor who rises, just to fall in the next decade? What is the point to these trainers' determination when _99% of them will fail_?

I see now a child in a wide straw hat, followed by an unusually slim dragonfly.

Again – as always – the child's eyes are narrowed in a fierce glare.

This child doesn't know that they're a drop in the bucket to me, one faceless one among thousands.

If this child could sit in my spot and watch the endless stream of trainers I have, through the rain, through the cold, through the blistering sun, and then do it again for years, there's no way they would ever take up the challenge.

Because what these trainers don't know is impossibility.

And yet...

I watch.

I wait.

The cycle repeats.

A new dawn approaches, along with the fresh crop of trainers.

And so…

The trainers pass on, but en masse, they fuel the determination that keeps others coming.

And in doing so, something is happening.

I don't know what, because every day feels the same. I don't know how, because the crown of victory, the promise of the rubies, necessitates that there can only be one winner. And the march of technology mandates that the winner be overthrown every time a better Pokemon is bred and better methods are taught.

But something is happening here at the Stadium.

And because I'm not a Cactaur, I never need to worry about outliving my purpose.

Being recycled for a third gen Cactaur.

As a humble cactus, I'll stay in my spot and watch until the Stadium or I crumble first.


End file.
